Agent Christmas
by bellabluesmoke
Summary: Bond comes back from a mission and Q reminds him that it's Christmas. His gift to the agent is surprising but not at all unwelcome. Short 00Q Christmas bit, rated T for Bond's handy-ness and other physical aspects. Enjoy!


Q branch is always in disarray after one of Bond's missions. Papers litter the floor and steel tables, and there are maps and reports pulled up on several of the monitors adorning the walls. It's always empty as well, many of the young interns long gone and the few overachievers sent away as the hours stretched thin. The only one left standing before the main podium is the Quartermaster. His hair is even messier than usual, sticking up oddly from where he's run his hand through it with nervous energy. His eyes are bearing a faint redness, wide and dry, and his shirt has come untucked at one edge. The creases at the knees of his pants and elbows of his shirt are worn in and stretched wide.

There is a Scrabble mug atop the edge of the podium, bearing a ring that marks the remnants of tea. Everyone knows the Quartermaster cannot function without his tea. He is a slight figure, one that looks as if he's easily broken, but looks are deceiving. This man may be young, but he is resolute, stony. The Quartermaster must be disciplined to work with the double-ohs, and in particular, double-oh-seven.

Bond walks into Q branch, a vague feeling of déjà vu settling in over him. He remembers Skyfall and the way that Q stood before him, fingers flying over computer keys, mind sharp as a razor and focused as a bullet. Bond usually visits Q after a mission, preferring the man's company to the irritating interns and the tedious process of debriefing.

Waiting for Bond is a hot cup of tea, placed right by the table next to Q's computer. This is another thing that has somehow become routine- it was only three days after Skyfall and meeting each other that Q started leaving tea and the occasional sandwich for the agent. Somehow, like everything else involving the two, it is an easy thing. Everything about Q and Bond's relationship is unconventional- agents and "desk workers" don't get along; they never have. It is strange to everyone else, the way that Bond and Q somehow seem to _fit,_ comfortable and easy. It hasn't escaped Bond's notice, the way that people seem to stare or whisper. _That agent, he has the young director in the palm of his hand. The poor thing. Just a child. So young. Such a shame._ Then there's the other whispers, the ones directed at Q. _Who does he think he is? Going after a field agent like a lovesick puppy. Too young to have such a high position. Entitled._

"Bond." Q's voice echoes from the screen at the front of the room. Bond snaps out of his thoughts immediately, turning from his tea to gaze at the disheveled Quartermaster. Q is there, looking rumpled and beyond exhaustion, but bearing a small smile for his agent. He comes over unsteadily, a little nervous-looking, light on his feet. Bond recognizes his uncertainty and tilts his body a little, realizing the very small amount of distance between them, and the way that Q's forest-green eyes somehow look much greener and inviting than they've ever looked before. He's faintly disturbed by the sentimental turn his thoughts have taken but writes it off as weariness.

"Merry Christmas, double-oh-seven," Q says, and Bond blinks. He hadn't remembered. He didn't even realize it was December already. The thought should appall him, but he is a field agent of MI6, and these things are natural.

"You forgot," Q says, a vague smile on his lips. Bond tries not to gaze too long at them.

"Too busy being shot at," He responds, his own lips quirking in return. When he's around Q, he finds himself smiling more- not just the usual suave grin he wears, but an actual smile. Q tilts his head, turning to his desk.

"I figured you'd forget. But-," Q pauses, unsure, and Bond wonders what's got the usually composed Quartermaster so anxious."I…have something. For you. I wasn't sure if you'd accept it…but here it is, all the same," Q finishes, setting a silvery, wrapped box before Bond. The agent tenses slightly, his first instinct to decline and leave as fast as possible-but this is Q, and he can't say no those green eyes, or that expressive mouth. He simply can't.

The first item inside is a sleek, brushed-silver metal pen. Q manages a full smile this time, and Bond feels the corners of his mouth tugging upwards.

"Old-fashioned?" He asks teasingly, and Q simply smiles wider.

"Multiple uses." Q's smile is replaced by an uneasy one as Bond lifts the second item out of the box. It is a keychain with a small, metal square attached, engraved with a stylized stag's silhouette. Bond looks questioningly up at Q, who rises, gazing at him a moment too long before walking out to the elevator.

"Where are we going?" Bond asks.

"Three levels down." Q replies, gazing forward.

"I didn't know we had a third floor." Bond says mildly, raising an eyebrow as he watches Q from the corner of his eye.

"It's my lab," Q says, and there is an ounce of pride in his voice. They step out of the elevator and Q enters the darkened, basement-like room. He stops at the doorway, turning to Bond, who reaches for the light.

The car is gorgeous in the blue light. It is sleek, black, and decidedly classy without being obvious. At first glance it is just any other car, but a closer look reveals its hidden properties. The car itself looks _hard_, as if it would survive anything. Q clears his throat.

"New material I helped design. Won't scratch, much less wreck. Tires will rarely be changed. All the old gadgets, with improvements in operation and new additions. Faster than any racecar ever built," Q adds, smiling.

"Must have been a pretty penny," Bond says lightly, and Q reads his tone expertly.

"I have a fair allowance. No use for money when you live at work. Besides which, it's not just for you. I felt like making something," Q finishes, looking back at Bond.

"It's beautiful," Bond says, gazing at Q the whole time, and the man flushes slightly, ducking his head.

"I hoped you'd like it. Classy, old-fashioned, alluring." Q's lips quirk, and this time he notices Bond's gaze. Neither man moves.

"Desirable," Bond corrects, eyes darker, and Q's lips part ever so slightly for a moment before he turns away, somewhat tense.

"Don't worry. I don't take gifts for Christmas."

"It's Christmas?" Bond asks, moving forward, lips by Q's ear. Q smells like tea, peppermint, and something vaguely musky and positively sensual.

"I'm not a conquest, Bond," Q says sharply, and his voice is steady, but there is an edge of fright. Someone has hurt him before; the thought makes Bond suddenly angry. Someone so beautiful, so unique, taken advantage of. His green eyes full of hurt.

"You could never be a conquest," Bond says firmly, turning Q to face him. "For one, I want nothing from you, and- you're too beautiful," he finishes softly, rough hand ghosting over Q's cheek. Q is shaking almost imperceptibly, and Bond leans forward, lips parted, to kiss him. It is soft, reassuring, and Q relaxes into him, hands sending a pleasant burn up Bond's chest. No _conquest_ has ever felt this right, this natural, as if he was meant to be here.

Bond eases Q back into the wall, taking full advantage of his height. Q's leg brushes between his, and his breath catches slightly as he bites Q. The moan that issues from the man's mouth makes Bond's lips vibrate, and the buzz fills the pit of his stomach as his heart begins to race. Bond is no longer kissing Q to comfort him, and the change is a bruising force that leaves Q panting for breath.

"We should probably move," Q says, pupils blown, and Bond enjoys the husky, just-kissed sound of Q's voice. He grins at the words, lips at Q's jaw.

"Should we?" He mutters, fingernails scraping the man's hipbones, reveling at the smooth planes. Q shudders beneath the touch, squirming.

"Yes. We should. You could take me with you in the car," he says, smiling. Bond feels a surge of _want_ as he suddenly envisions Q in the backseat, flushed and sweaty against the cold leather. Q watches the lust in the agent's eyes and turns redder, eyes wide.

"I could take _you_…in the _car_," Bond manages to growl out an eyebrow quirked infuriatingly, and Q gasps raggedly as Bond's nails dig into his hips and he's pulled closer.

"An excellent proposition."

* * *

**I 00Q'd. Please don't shoot me! I hope this wasn't too excruciatingly horrid. I just really wanted to give everyone some holiday 00Q and it ended up coming out as something _way_ more sensual than I'd imagined. Oops? **

**Read and Review, as always :) and Happy Holidays!  
**


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